The 25th is a hard day for me. It didn’t dawn on me until this month just exactly why. My father passed away on this day in March of this year. He was my biggest fan and since his passing, my life perspective has changed a little. Or a lot. Depends on the day and my thoughts.
When one starts out with a writing career, we’re all new kids, full of wide-eyed wonder at all the shiny, interesting things we see on the journey. Not once do we worry about where the ideas will come from, how we’ll get them down on paper or in the computer or even what a plot structure really is. Sure, we’d learned those things but the freedom to create is more important than the mechanics at that point.
Don’t get me wrong, we want to do it right but we definitely want to do it our way. But soon, we learn that our way isn’t the only way and there are many out there who can teach us more. So we become like a sponge, absorbing all the things around us that have to do with writing. Sometimes so much so that we forget an important part of writing itself. And that’s the living. In order to write, we need to live. We need to have our ups and downs to gain the experience of getting something written with the ‘wow’ factor.
Writing is all about living and how to do it well. When my mother was ill with Alzheimer’s, I gave up writing because I felt I needed to spend as much time as possible with her. Then my Dad took me aside and told me she’d kick my butt for giving up my dream. So back to writing I went and it was shortly thereafter I was published for the first time in ebook form and thankful he’d pushed me to do the one thing I truly love.
More recently, we’d talked again about how I’d slowed down on my writing. The move to Austria had been hard on me, things at home weren’t going like I thought they should, and I was still reeling from an ex-crit partner’s scathing tirade of what my writing lacked and other faults. My father again told me to get my head out of my behind and questioned me on why I really cared what someone else thought. He reminded me it was just one person and he was sure I’d offend a few more with something else along the way. Life isn’t without controversy or so he thought.
Frankly, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry because he was right. I’d never let it worry me before and I’d kept plugging away. Things can always be fixed but not getting them down is more of a problem. Sure, I needed to do an in-depth study as to why those words affected me so much but I shouldn’t stop writing because of it. Again, he was the man who had supported me as a kid with only a high-school education. He was a farmer’s son and a heavy equipment operator but he knew things I didn’t. His life perspective was for me to be happy and do only what I loved doing. Something that had been denied him all his life.
Since he passed, I’ve written more than I’d written the previous three individual years. His words lit a fire in my soul again to write and get my stories on paper. There are times when I’m consumed with the woulda, shoulda, coulda routine but I know that our last days together were exactly how they were meant to be. Each day, I put more words down on my stories, I write blogs or plan bigger and better series. And for that I am grateful to just one person.
This one’s for you, Dad ~ I’m living the dream!